


Crash, Crash, Crash

by LensMind



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Idiot Jean, M/M, awkward baths, brief gore description at start but not much, nurse marco, they're both dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3470378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LensMind/pseuds/LensMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Marco's three years since  becoming a nurse, he rarely saw someone as torn apart as Jean Kirschtein was when he was hurled into A&E.</p><p>It was almost a crime when a very morphined-up Jean was wheeled into one of the normal hospital rooms the following morning. A Jean who looked… not very worse for wear… And thus, he was left to Marco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crash, Crash, Crash

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my [tumblr](http://freckledbodty.tumblr.com), but someone asked me to post it here, so I have ^^
> 
> JeanMarco hospital AU that I just needed to write and it turned out long, alright?
> 
> side note: i know nothing of hospitals or medical stuff, so apologies if it’s not accurate… what IS accurate however is everything to do with the shitty broken shoulder, including, but not limited to: the shitty big cast, the shitty pain of a sneeze, and the shitty fact you have to be held upside down so someone can wash your hair and that is fucking terrifying ok?

Marco had seen his fair share of bloodied bodies being pushed through the hospitals doors – face swamped by the oxygen mask, paramedics rattling off information covered in bodily fluids, the entire medical staff swarming the patient like bees around their queen – it all just came as part of the job as a nurse. But in his three years since graduating university, he rarely saw someone as torn apart as Jean Kirschtein was when he was hurled into A&E.

His face displayed an ugly gash across his nose and cheek – someone said later that he had been lucky the gash wasn’t a few inches higher, or else he might have lost an eye – and already a bruise was painting itself proudly across what could be seen of his neck. The rest of his body was even more of a state: left leg twisted at an odd angle, leather trouser torn and sticking to the bloody lacerations; the paramedics had had to cut away his leather jacket, leaving a shirt on show that was slowly turning darker with as blood seeped out; his left arm seemed fine at a glance, until you noticed the way his elbow was dented inwards slightly beneath the nasty friction burn that sat there. Motorbike accident, someone yelled as the doctors tried to cut away his trousers on the move, a lorry had ran a light and smashed straight into him.

He was whisked straight to the ICU, and that was the last Marco saw of the smashed up Jean Kirschtein…

…for all of a day.

After how messed up he looked, Marco felt it was almost a crime when Christa – one of the ICU nurses – wheeled a very morphined-up Jean into one of the normal hospital rooms the following morning. A Jean who looked… not very worse for wear…

Christa laughed at Marco’s speechlessness as the two of them awkwardly manoeuvred Jean onto one of the free beds at the end of the room. Marco noted some stitches in his cheek, and his left leg and arm both in casts, but other than that… nothing. In fact, Marco even dared to think he managed to look… _attractive_. (Which meant this Jean Kirschtein must have had superpowers, because no one looks good in the awful green hospital gowns he’d been changed into.

“Watch out for this one,” Christa joked, stroking Jean’s hair flat. “He’s clearly a drama queen, even when he’s unconscious or out of it on morphine.” She handed Marco Jean’s clipboard, and left after blowing a kiss to the drowsy patient. Marco glanced over the medial information: broken leg, broken shoulder, stitches, and a substantial blood transfusion. Yep, that was literally it other than some cuts and bruises. He shook his head and looked up at Jean.

He squinted his eyes at Marco and beckoned him closer. When Marco leant closer, Jean whispered, “I think I need my head checked. A fucking goddess just wheeled me over here…”

Ah, patients on morphine were never unamusing…

* * *

Jean had no idea where he was. His eyelids seemed to be weighed down, or at least glued shut; in fact, his entire body felt like it was anchored to whatever horrific thing he was lying on. He certainly hoped it wasn’t a mattress, because if it was he’d need serious words with the idiot who bought such a load of crap. His head was groggy enough that even his thoughts sounded muffled, and when he tried to open his mouth he grimaced at how dry it was. The fact he could still taste chinese on his tongue – now stale – wasn’t a good sign. He vaguely remembered hanging out at Eren’s for take-out with the gang, and he remembered he was sensible enough not to drink since he had drive home, but none of that explained his current situation.

He went to raise his hand to rub his eyes open, and felt a nasty tug of something sticking in his elbow. That flared up the initial panic. He tried his other hand and immediately realised what was wrong. A shooting pain flew up the entirety of his left arm – stabbing along his shoulder and collarbone – and let out a grunt of pain, for that was all his dry throat could produce. The panic grew, and grew yet again when he got the impression his left arm was pretty much held in place against his stomach.

Clenching his eyelids, it took a good few tries for Jean to tear them open from facial muscles only – he really hoped no one was around, since he was probably making some right faces. Finally, he succeeded, but his relief was short lived when the brightness around him dimmed and the world came into focus.

Or, more specifically, the old man glaring at him from a bed opposite came into focus.

Jean stared back for a moment, taking in the man’s green gown, the sterilised décor, and the IV that was sticking into his arm. Then, he turned his attention to his own state; the matching green gown he was wearing, the rather large lump under the bedsheet that was where his leg should be, the cast covering his left arm, and finally the IV sticking into his right arm.

He trailed his eyes back up to the grumpy old arse opposite and vaguely remembered that he'd taken his motorbike to Eren's (he recalled wanting to rub his beautiful bike's new paint job in Eren's face).

Even his dry throat couldn’t stop him from muttering an, “Ah, shit…”

“Don’t curse at me, you hooligan!” Grumpy old arse ordered in a hoarse voice. Jean was too busy despairing over his state to even bother laughing at the fact he’d just been called a ‘hooligan’ in real life.

“The fuck happened…?” he muttered to himself. The more he spoke, the more desperate for a drink he got. He tried to lift his right arm again, but the pull of the IV and the heaviness was just too much.

A quiet beep started to continuously ring around the room, and Jean glanced back over at Grumpy to see him jabbing away at some button. Someone else in the room groaned a “Shut up, old man!”, and Jean became aware that there were two other filled beds in the room with him and Grumpy: a middle-aged dude who to Jean’s right and seemed to be trying to sleep, and another guy who was probably around Jean’s age – this guy was the only one in his own clothes, and sitting on top of the bed, rather than in it.

The door to the room swung open, and a young nurse in blue walked into the room. He seemed tired – judging from the dark rings under his eyes and his slightly unkempt hair – but he still wore the friendliest smile Jean had ever seen when he entered. The nurse walked straight over to Grumpy, which gave Jean a chance to quickly decide he had a very pretty ass.

“You called, Mr. Jefferson?” the nurse said with a smile.

“That one is cursing like a sailor!” Grumpy spat.

The nurse looked over and seemed surprised to see Jean looking back at him. “Ah, you’re awake sooner than I expected!” The surprise quickly turned into a bright smile, and he wandered over to Jean’s beside. “I’m Marco, I’m the nurse in charge of you–”

“You’re in charge of me!” Grumpy yelled.

“I’m in charge of this whole room, Mr. Jefferson, please don’t disturb the other patients,” Marco said softly before turning back to Jean. “Can you tell me your name?”

A million thoughts raced through Jean’s head. Mainly along the lines of ‘shit, they don’t know my name?’, but with the odd ‘hell yeah I’ll tell you my name, Nurse McHot-Ass, and my number while we’re at it’ thrown in. The fact that he still had ridiculously inappropriate chat-up lines flitting around his head had to be a good sign, right? Eventually he cleared his mind enough to say “Jean Kirschtien.”

Marco smiled. “Good!” And just like that, Jean became a puppy looking to get praise any way he could.

Marco grabbed a clipboard that was hanging off the end of Jean’s bed and started writing something down. “Ok, Jean, are you in any pain at all?”

“My arm hurt when I moved it… and my throat.”

“Ah, yes, please avoid moving your left arm. You’ve got yourself a broken shoulder. Your leg is broken too, so no Irish dancing, please.”

“I sort of gathered from the whole cast thing I’ve got going on…” Jean said. “Wait, broken shoulder? Not arm?”

“Yes, broken shoulder,” Marco grinned down at him. “We call it a ‘grandma injury’, since they’re mainly sustained from old bones and difficult movements. It’s no often we get a young person with a broken shoulder.”

“Lucky me…”

Marco laughed at that, and Jean felt like he’d hit the jackpot. “Anyway, I’ll ask the doctor to up your painkillers to try and numb the pain a little more, since the morphine’s wearing off. And I’ll get you a drink and something to soothe your throat a little. You’ve been out for quite a while, so I’m sure it’s dry.”

The information seemed all a bit too much, and Jean groaned. “The fuck…?”

Marco was watching him carefully – probably with some special nurse’s eye or something – and he knitted his eyebrows together. “Do you remember anything that happened, Jean?”

Jean shook his head, and Marco gave a sad smile and carefully sat on the edge of his bed to start the story.

* * *

Marco took his time to get changed into his scrubs, and chatted to a few of the others who were starting similar shifts. He clocked in with the rest and headed to the nurse’s station to take over from whoever had been working his rooms through the previous day. The head nurse, Moblit was in the middle of an argument with Doctor Hanji (a normal sight…), so Marco gave an ignored wave of greeting and checked the shift schedule.

“Thank Christ…” came Mina’s sigh as she walked up behind Marco. “I can’t take another moment of dealing with the Jefferson and Kirschtein room…”

“Still at it?” Marco asked with a laugh as Mina started handing him the updated files for his patients.

She nodded solemnly. “I get the feeling Jean is doing it on purpose now…”

Marco thought back to the past few days that Jean had been stuck in hospital; it certainly sounded like something Jean would do.

As if on cue, the nurse call light started flashing for room 23 and the entire staff on the nurse station groaned. Mina threw her hands in the air and gave Marco a look. “Not my shift anymore!”

Laughing, Marco hit Mina on the head with the files and started making his way towards room 23. If he was honest, he didn’t actually mind being called there every ten minutes; Mr. Jefferson and Jean’s fights were quite humorous to witness, and Jean himself was actually pretty good company. As he pushed into the room, however, he sensed there was something slightly off about this call.

Mr. Yates, the other resident of the room was actually sitting up for once (he usually tried to sleep constantly), and looked at Marco in concern when he entered. Even Mr. Jefferson was quiet, but it was him who had clearly pressed the button. When he spotted Marco, he lifted a shaking arm to point across the room – face full of fear. Panic shot through every one of Marco’s nerves, and he quickly jogged over to Jean’s bed – holding his breath in worry.

Jean’s face was scrunched up in pain – his head bent right back into the pillow and teeth clenched as if he were holding back a scream. His right hand hovered in the air, flinching and clearly unsure what to do with itself.

“Jean? Jean, what’s wrong?” Marco said, keeping his voice as steady as possible as he reached Jean’s side.

“Fuck-ing… shoulder!” Jean gasped.

Mr. Jefferson seemed too concerned to even comment on the curse. He kept jabbing his finger towards Jean as Marco went about putting some painkillers in the IV. “He sneezed! Whole body jolted!”

Well, that explained it somewhat. Marco winced in pity and brushed a hand against Jean’s forehead in an attempt to comfort him. Jean blinked a few times, still grimacing and clearly holding back tears. “That sneeze fucking killed me…”

“Sadly that’s a little unavoidable,” Marco sighed. “The painkillers will kick in soon.”

Sure enough, a few seconds later and Jean’s face was relaxing. He sighed with relief and grinned dopily up at Marco. “You’re a godsend.”

* * *

There were certain perks to living alone: no one to fight over the bathroom with, no one to badger you about washing the dishes or moving the pizza box that had been on top of the microwave for about two weeks, no one awkwardly walking in on you when you’re trying to get off… But as Jean sat in a hospital bed, arguing with the doctor over when he could be released, he started to realise the downsides to living at home too.

“I’m sorry, Jean,” Doctor Erwin was saying for the twenty-forth time. “But I can’t send you home when there’s no one there to look after you.”

“You said yourself that I’m making a fast recovery!” Jean snapped.

“Yes, you’re minor injuries are quickly healing, but you still have two broken limbs, and won’t be able to take care of yourself. If it was just one, I might be persuaded, but you can’t do anything with one leg and one arm out of order.”

“Well, if you hadn’t put my whole fucking arm in a cast, maybe I wouldn’t have this problem!” Jean motioned to the stupid white thing that contained his entire arm; even after a week of being told this and that, he still had no clue why they had to put him in a cast from collarbone to wrist when only his shoulder was broken.

Erwin smiled, seeming completely unfazed by Jean’s complaints – in fairness, he’d been dealing with them ever since Jean had been wheeled into this damned hospital. “A broken shoulder is much more complicated than a broken arm. Any movement in the limb at all can cause it to hurt like hell. Or do you need another sneeze to prove it?”

And just like that, Erwin turned and stalked over to speak to one of the other patients in the room. Jean sunk back into the pillows, preparing to spend the rest of the day pouting until the medical staff got so sick of him they had to send him home.

His pouting was immediately put on hold when his favourite nurse wandered over with a smile that always seemed to be meant just for him. “You’re having visitors tonight, right Jean?” Marco asked, checking something on a clipboard.

“Yep. Two mates. You’ll know them as soon as they walk in: one super pretty girl, and one huge dick.” Saying that, Jean was ridiculously excited to seeing Mikasa and Eren – since his parents were still in France, he hadn’t bothered to tell them the full extent of his accident so they wouldn’t be worried (they still thought he just had a broken arm and was being kept in ‘just to be safe’). His friends, however, knew everything, but Jean hadn’t let them come visit until the bruise on his neck was faded and the stitches were out of his cheek – Mikasa would guess that he’d been wearing a helmet that was too big for him otherwise, and Jean didn’t want to risk her wrath.

“Well, how about we finally get you a decent wash, then?” Marco cocked an eyebrow, and Jean even sensed a hidden smirk.

“Yeah, no, I’m good.” It had been five days since he’d been brought in, and he was dying for a scrub – that was one of the main reasons he wanted to go home… but he did not want to subject himself to the embarrassment of a bed bath – he’d seen Mr. Jefferson get them enough to know he was not going there. Mr. Yates was well enough to go use a shower by himself, but Jean knew he would never be allowed to do that with ‘two limbs out of order’ as Erwin had said.

“Jean,” Marco sighed. “Any longer and I’ll have to start wearing a nose plug when I come in here.”

Jean felt his face heat up and quickly sniffed himself – he didn’t smell too bad, at least… he didn’t think so. Oh god… he hoped Marco couldn’t smell him…

“Relax, I’m joking,” Marco laughed, apparently noticing Jean’s horror. “But I must insist that we give you at least a hose down.”

“Please don’t give me a bed bath…” Jean whispered in fear.

Marco blinked a few times, and gave a laugh. “Don’t worry, we’ll take you to one of the bathrooms. We need to take care of your casts, so it’ll be in there.”

Jean had never been so relieved in his life.

He was slightly less relieved when he discovered Marco would be the one doing the washing. He wasn’t entirely sure why this was so much worse than having Marco empty his bedpan (who knew he’d miss pissing in a toilet so much?), but he felt his heart rate sky-rocketing when Marco started running the shower in the bathroom.

“Y-you’re doing it?” Jean asked from his wheelchair.

“Yep. No backing out, Jean,” Marco sung as he got the water to the right temperature. Once he had it, he just let it lie on the floor – spraying completely across the wetroom they were in – and wandered over to pull Jean’s wheelchair closer. Jean felt weird; the plastic bags and cling-film that had been wrapped around his casts to protect them looked ridiculous, and he just knew he was blushing when Marco started taking off the hospital gown he was wearing.

God, he really wanted to know where the fuckers had put his underwear, because this was horrible.

“Jean, can you calm down already?” Marco sighed as he picked up the shower head again. “You’re forgetting I wash old men daily. You’re actually a welcome break.”

Jean snorted as Marco started to carefully wash his good arm. “What? You’re grateful you’re seeing a dick that’s not all shrivelled?”

“Very grateful,” Marco agreed with a chuckle. And just like that Jean found himself relaxing a little. Marco worked carefully – his hands stroking the warm water across his skin and massaging shower gel against him. It was a little tricky trying to wash around the edges of his casts, but Marco seemed to work through it. By the time Marco was washing down there Jean had taken to trying to count backwards from 5000 by 8 to keep his mind off the hot nurse currently rubbing… yeah. He succeeded (miraculously) and wanted to cry with pride when Marco finished cleaning his body.

“Alright, let’s get your hair done before it attract nits,” Marco said as he moved Jean’s wheelchair closer yet to the bath. He paused for a moment, seemingly thinking something over and gave a sigh. “Sorry Jean, but I might have to call someone else in…”

“W-what?” Jean yelped, glancing over as Marco started to walk towards the red cord that he assumed was to call for help.

“I can’t wash your hair as you are, or the water will drip down your neck and into your cast. Can’t risk it.” Marco pulled and Jean felt what was left of his pride drift away.

Thankfully, Marco seemed to feel sorry for him and quickly patted him dry and put the gown back on him just in time before another nurse – this time a terrifyingly tall guy who Marco referred to as ‘Mike’ – appeared.

It seemed Marco’s plan was to have Mike lift Jean pretty much upside-fucking-down so he could wash his hair. Jean briefly suggested that his hair wasn’t that greasy, but Marco wouldn’t have it – something about getting it done while they have the chance. So, Jean found himself being held in a ridiculously strong pair of arms and being tilted backwards. He said a few prayers. The small saving grace was the fact he could stare up at Marco’s face throughout the wash – Marco worked just as carefully as he had when washing Jean’s body; smooth, soft strokes through his hair, and massaging the shampoo in that Jean could have purred. A few times, Marco caught Jean staring and shot him a blindingly perfect smile.

He decided by the end that he wouldn’t complain _too_ much if Marco wanted to wash him again.

* * *

Someone drummed against the nurse’s station desk, making Marco spin round to see two people about his age staring at him expectantly.

“Hey, we’re looking for Jean Kirschtein?” the guy said. It took Marco a second to remember what Jean had said about his visitors.

“Ah, the super pretty girl,” he motioned to the dark haired beauty who gave a small smile of greeting. His pointed finger moved to the male. “And the…” He quickly trailed off when he remember what Jean had said.

His face must have said more than enough, as the guy just threw his hands up in exasperation. “He called me a dick, didn’t he? Even half-dead he’s still a twat.”

“Be nice, Eren,” the girl warned.

Marco smiled at the exchange – quickly deciding that these were definitely the sort of people Jean would hang out with – and led the two to Jean’s room. Mr. Yates had been discharged earlier that day, so the three of them walked in to Mr. Jefferson (who was babbling nonsense at his visiting daughter and grandson as normal), and a very bored looking Jean.

Jean’s face lit up when he spotted them entering – and Marco selfishly hoped he was partly the reason for the lighting up.

“Don’t call me a dick to the nurses,” was the guy’s greeting. He walked straight up to Jean’s side and went to punch him. Marco had a quick panic attack as he saw the fist flying towards Jean’s bad arm, but Jean must have trusted his friend enough as he didn’t even flinch. The guy’s fist stopped an inch away from the cast and he pulled up a seat to the bedside to fall into.

“Marco’s too sweet to not be warned of your imminent dickishness,” Jean said very matter-of-factly. He looked back over at Marco with a smile and introduced the two as Mikasa and Eren.

Mikasa stood at the end of Jean’s bed, her face scrunched in thought as she took him in, and then she glanced over at Marco. “How did he get the gash on his cheek? Wasn’t he wearing a helmet?”

Marco opened his mouth to answer, but Jean immediately jumped in. “The visor smashed in on me, Mikasa. Calm your head.”

If Marco’s memory served him correctly, that wasn’t true, but he figured he better not question Jean’s excuse.

“Ok…” Jean took a long breath and turned to Eren, face suddenly falling serious. “Eren… Where’s Pamela? The doctors won’t tell me anything.”

Eren and Mikasa exchanged a panicked look that Jean easily caught.

“Where’s Pamela?” he repeated, suddenly sounding afraid. “Is she… Is she hurt?”

Marco’s mind started spinning. Had there been another person involved in the crash? Had Jean been giving someone a lift? He couldn’t recall, but the conversation was starting to make him very worried. He only grew more concerned when Mikasa walked round to Jean’s other side and took his hand tightly.

“Jean… Pamela’s with Reiner,” Mikasa said softly, stroking a hand through Jean’s hair.

“W-why? Is he looking after her until I’m out?” Jean asked, voice quivering.

“He was there as soon as he heard the news,” Eren went on. “But… Sorry, man. The crash was too much for her.”

Jean’s face showed the very moment his heart shattered, and Marco wanted to wrap him up in his arms to make the pain go away. He grabbed the clipboard of Jean’s notes and started flipping through, trying to work out who this Pamela was and how he didn’t know she’d died in the crash.

Jean’s voice was a whisper when he next spoke. “But… I just bought her new snow tires… and the paint job…”

Marco froze.

“I know buddy…” Eren said, rubbing Jean’s back. “She was a good ride. She’ll be missed.”

“Pamela…” The three friends turned to Marco as he spoke. “Pamela’s the motorbike?”

Jean nodded sadly.

Marco deadpanned and dropped the clipboard back into place, marching right out of the room to splash some water on his face and get away from ridiculous idiots.

* * *

Ten days. Ten days Jean had been stuck in this damned bed in this damned hospital. Ten days since he’d stretched his legs. Ten days since he’d done something vaguely mentally stimulating that didn’t involve arguing with a grumpy old man, chatting up a hot nurse, or staring blankly at a sorry excuse for a TV.

Ten days and he was going crazy.

More and more of his friends were starting to visit – all clearly feeling endless pity for his state of endless boredom. Mikasa and Armin had briefly discussed trying to rearrange their schedules so Jean could come live with them until he was able to live independently again, but Jean knew they were both busy with their lives and didn’t have time to play nursemaid over his stupid ass.

He was actually starting to consider calling his parents to come over…

No. He wasn’t that desperate yet. He would _never_ be that desperate.

The curtain around Mr. Jefferson’s bed was pulled away, and Marco stepped out, carrying a bowl of water. Mr. Jefferson locked eyes with Jean and immediately started up. “You staring at me, boy? You were peeking?”

“The curtain’s aren’t see through, Mr. Jefferson,” Marco assured him, pausing on his way out of the room to prevent any arguments.

“Not that I’d want to see your wrinkly old ass getting a scrub, old man,” Jean said. He didn’t add anything else since Marco shot him a warning glance. Sinking deeper into his pillow (and also noting it was ten days since he’d lain flat… damn shoulder), Jean grabbed the remote and started flicking through the channels on the tiny TV screen that each bed came with. As expected with day-time analogue (who the fuck still had analogue?), there was nothing on but crap like Antique Roadshow and Home Under the Hammer. He made a note to ask Armin to bring him some books or something next time he came to visit.

He went ahead and turned the TV off entirely when Marco re-entered to bring everyone their lunches. He gave Jean his last, plopping it down on his little table with a smile. “It’s overly healthy and without any salt, just how I know you like it, Jean.”

“Why didn’t that lorry driver just kill me when he had the chance…” Jean grumbled as he stared down at the unappetising food before him.

“Ah, you don’t mean that,” Marco said, unwrapping Jean’s knife and fork since he knew Jean struggled to do it one-handed. He shot Jean one of his perfect smiles again. “If he’d killed you, you wouldn’t have the privilege of being served by me.”

Jean found himself grinning. “Ain’t that true…”

There was a brief moment where the two of them didn’t speak, just stared at each other with smiles that grew wider and more giddy with every breath. Eventually, it was Mr. Jefferson who forced them to snap out of it – dropping his cup and immediately yelling about the terrible craftsmanship – so Marco jolted back into action, blushing slightly as he handed Jean his knife and fork and hurrying over to deal with the other patient. Once he was one, he glanced back over at Jean again, seemingly about to say something, but then dropped his gaze and hurried off to “get his own lunch”.

Jean groaned and smacked a hand over his face.

Ten days since he’d met the most perfect guy ever, and ten days that said guy had been off-limits. If he and met Marco anywhere else, he would have been on it like a car bonnet… or something less awful and cheesy and maybe a little more romantic… but _no_. Perfect Marco just _had_ to be Jean’s nurse; so he couldn’t even flirt without feeling like a douchebag. Sure, he _could_ flirt a little more than he already did, but he was all-too-aware that this was Marco’s work, so that would be colossally inappropriate.

Well… he could at least admire him from afar, right?

* * *

Two weeks since Jean Kirschtein had been rolled into the hospital, and Marco was starting to seriously question his work ethic since he now seemed to think crushing hard on helpless patients was _totally_ fine. Poor Jean couldn’t even run if he tried…

Before every shift, he now had to tell himself over and over that flirting with patients was _not_ ok, and even if Jean seemed to be flirting back it was just Marco’s overactive imagination misreading his friendly banter.

He yawned as he pulled on his scrubs, ready for another long shift, and started heading to the nurse’s station to get everything in order before he started. He was starting on a late shift, so the lights in the hospital were dimmed and pretty much all the staff looked about as exhausted as he felt. Thankfully, late shifts on Marco’s ward were generally pretty quiet, as long as there was no emergencies.

He did his rounds, mainly finding most patients asleep, and eventually got round to the uncharacteristically quiet room 23. Mr. Yates had been discharged, so currently only Jean and Mr. Jefferson occupied the room – excluding the odd patient just in for a day. As Marco slipped inside, he heard the familiar soft snores of Mr. Jefferson and quickly checked his clipboard for any changes – none. When he turned around, he noticed Jean had a set of headphones on. As he wandered over, he could hear muffled music coming out of them.

Jean’s eyes were closed, so Marco assumed he was asleep, and started to pull the bedsheet over him as it had been kicked to the side. Feeling the movement, Jean’s eyes snapped open, making both patient and nurse jump in surprise at seeing the other.

But Jean’s lips smoothly eased into a smile after a heartbeat, and he pulled the headphones down. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Marco whispered. “Did I wake you?”

“Nah, I was just dozing. Shift just starting?”

“Pretty much. So you’re stuck with me for now, I’m afraid,” Marco smiled.

Jean snorted. “Yeah, like I’d ever complain about being stuck with you.”

There it was again: that brief moment of dubious banter that made Marco question his own morals. If the two of them were in any other setting, Marco might have pushed further until he knew for definite whether Jean was being purposefully flirtatious or not. Sadly, the hospital made itself known through constant beeps and whirls of machines, and Marco mentally kicked himself for even contemplating leaning any closer to Jean than necessary.

He was about to excuse himself and leave Jean to sleep, when Jean spoke instead. “My mum’s flying over from France, so she’ll be picking me up tomorrow.”

Marco blinked. “Oh? She’s… going to look after you?”

“Yeah. Turns out Eren let slip the whole broken limbs thing and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. I don’t really mind though. I’m dying for one of her omelettes right about now…” Jean was wearing this expression of pure joy that Marco saw a lot in patients about to go home. Usually, seeing them so happy gave him this warm, fuzzy feeling – like he was doing something right in getting them well enough to leave the hospital. But when he saw that expression on Jean’s face, Marco just felt a bit… deflated.

He forced the smile to remain on his face anyway. “That’s great! You won’t have to deal with Mr. Jefferson’s angry shouts about swearing and lazing around anymore.”

“You’ve clearly not met my mother…”

Marco gave an understanding nod, and wracked his brains for an excuse to leave before he felt even more conflicted. All it resulted in, however, was another silent moment between the two of them – where Marco could almost _feel_ unspoken words passing between them. Finally, he took a breath and motioned to the door. “I should get on… sleep well, Jean.”

“Wait, Marco?”

As Jean requested, Marco remained still, and watched as the patient started uncertainly reaching onto his bedside table. Jean flipped open a book that sat there and picked up a small scrap of paper that was inside. He held it out to Marco with a reddening face.

“Maybe… you could give me a call? When I get out?” Jean wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I mean, you’re cool and all and… it might be cool to hang out… not as nurse and patient, I mean. N-not saying that this isn’t cool too! I just thought it might be more cool to hang as friends… and stuff…”

Marco looked from the piece of paper being held out to him up to the blushing Jean and wondered if he realised how many times he’d said ‘cool’ just then.

“I-If you want… I mean,” Jean added quietly.

Trying very hard not to read too much into it, Marco plucked the paper from Jean’s fingers and glanced down at the scribbled name and number. Biting his lip to keep his smile as small and professional as possible, he gave Jean a nod. “Yeah. That would be cool.”

Jean seemed surprised at the response. “C-cool!”

“Cool,” Marco laughed. “I really should go though… Night.”

“Night Marco!”

Marco spun around before his grin split his face in half and held the paper like it was a trophy. As he pushed the door open to leave, he shot a glance back at Jean to see him fistpumping the air with his good arm.

* * *

Jean was still high on excitement the next morning when his mum came to pick him up (where she promptly screamed and sort-of-cried when she saw the true state he was in), and he kept checking his phone every ten minutes in case Marco had texted him yet. He knew he wouldn’t have – Marco was working, and wouldn’t have his phone on him, and Jean wasn’t meant to have his phone switched on at all (both because of hospital rules, and because there was 7% battery left... or possibly 17%, he couldn't really tell with the smashed screen) – but he could at least hope, right?

Leading up to his release, Doctor Erwin was hanging around like a bad smell to talk to his mother about this and that. Jean was also not impressed when his mum pulled the curtain closed around his bed and helped him into some clothes whilst Erwin was _still_ standing there talking. It was bad enough that the beauty Marco had to see his dick, he didn’t want Erwin and his _mother_ to fucking see it. (His mum kept insisting “I created it!” and that she didn’t understand why Jean was so embarrassed).

Being back in normal clothes was a God-given gift – Jean had never been happier to feel fabric over his arse until that moment – though his arm had to remain under his shirt since the cast didn’t really allow him to manoeuvre it like _at all_. His mum started shoving what little he had here into a bag, as Jean pretended to listen to Erwin’s orders on painkillers and when to return to get the cast off and shit; time was ticking down, and Jean was suddenly very afraid he’d miss Marco.

His worries disappeared when Marco walked in just in time to help Jean into a wheelchair. The atmosphere seemed a little awkward at first, but it just turned into pure giddiness and sly smiles between them after a few seconds.

“Well, Mr. Jefferson,” Jean sang as Marco wheeled him over to the old man’s bed. “It’s been fun, sir.”

The old man frowned, but eventually held his hand out. Jean shook it gladly. “Good riddance, lad. Go heal up and jump in front of another lorry, like you hooligans do.”

“Yeah, yeah, and you get out of here and go get them old biddies, old man.”

His mother smacked him over the head for that, but Mr. Jefferson wore his strange little smile, so Jean knew he wasn’t offended.

Marco offered to wheel him out – happily chatting away to his mother as they headed down and out of the hospital. A taxi was already waiting and the driver was getting out to help Jean into the car, but Marco waved him away saying he could handle it. As his mother climbed into the taxi’s front seat, Marco stepped around to grab Jean around the waist to help him stand.

It felt weird putting weight on his good leg, but it also felt insanely good to stretch a little, and Jean gave a happy sigh which made Marco pause before putting him in the car. Jean was glad for the moment of stillness, as he meant he good swivel his head round and shoot Marco a grin.

“So… I’ll see you round, maybe?” he asked, still slightly unsure of their position.

“Yeah… I’ll give you a call,” Marco nodded.

Jean raised his eyebrows. “Soon?”

“As soon as my shift ends. Is that soon enough?”

“Eh, it’ll do…”

With the promise, Jean felt bold. He hopped around carefully to stand more independently, and leant forward. He pressed a brief kiss to Marco’s cheek.

He pulled back immediately, looking down in fear of seeing the reaction, and started carefully lowering himself into the taxi. “Ok, off we go!”

Jean was all ready to zoom off without another glance or word at Marco, but Marco seemed to have other ideas. Once Jean was safely sitting, and the taxi driver folded the wheelchair up to put in the boot, Marco leant down.

Marco was bolder: he kissed Jean on the lips.

It was amazing. A brief moment of fire against his lips that Jean wished would never end. Fireworks were set alight in his stomach, shooting all across his body in bursts of excitement, and when Marco pulled back, Jean opened his eyes and saw stars.

Marco’s smile was perfect. “I’ll call you as soon as my break starts.”


End file.
